


I Like You

by Bleak_Defiance



Category: The 100
Genre: Abuse, Alcoholism, Angst, Canon Typical Violence, Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mentions of neglect, Murphamy - Freeform, Murphy needs a hug, Murphy's tragic backstory, Murphy-centric, Substance Abuse, Torture, Trauma, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:15:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23711350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleak_Defiance/pseuds/Bleak_Defiance
Summary: Three connected stories pertaining to John Murphy and Bellamy Blake, and the people that Murphy's mind always goes back to.OrIn which Murphy is angsty with a foul mouth and Bellamy sucks at feelings but we love him anyway (sometimes).
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/John Murphy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 53





	1. Lost

John Murphy had known Bellamy fucking Blake for all of about eight hours by the time he knew he was completely and utterly fucked.

In Murphy's opinion, it wasn't at all his fault. It was Bellamy's stupid fucking crooked smile and his stupid fucking eyes and his stupid fucking voice and -fuck, Murphy was a goner from the start because falling for Bellamy seemed so stupidly easy.

When it came to Bellamy, there was no denying Murphy felt _something_. He would happily have ignored that _something_ and shoved it deep, deep, _deep_ down, had he not woken up thinking about Bellamy fucking Blake and his stupid fucking smile and his stupid fucking lips and his _obnoxiously_ punchable teeth.

Bellamy wasn't blind, he noted the way Murphy's hand always lingered on his arm just a little too long, how he always stood just that little bit closer than everyone else. Bellamy pretended not to notice Murphy watching him, always watching as long as Bellamy wasn't looking, because to Bellamy? Murphy was useful, so whatever kept him loyal.

But nothing was ever simple when it came to John Murphy.

So, naturally, it wasn't long before Bellamy found himself curling his fingers around the belt loops of Murphy's jeans in the dark corner of an empty room when no one was looking. Which just left him feeling confused and grabbing the nearest girl the moment he walked away.

And Murphy just let it happen, mentally kicking himself because he was

_stupid_

_stupid_

_stupid_

and more confused than before because

_What the fuck, Bellamy?_

And then Murphy, like a fucking idiot, would start to believe Bellamy, would come to _trust_ Bellamy. Because Bellamy was the one who started it. _Bellamy_ kissed _him_.

Which only made it that much worse when it was Bellamy that kicked the crate from underneath him.


	2. Departed

Locked in that cell, drenched in his own blood, and possibly someone else's -Murphy couldn't remember, but his jaw hurt and there were teeth marks on the arm of the guard-, was probably the longest three days of his fucking life. He'd bit his tongue so hard he'd wondered if it would leave scars more times than he could count. He told himself it was the pain and he couldn't give less of a shit about the hundred, but he knew he had no intentions of selling them out. Not that he thought he could last much longer.

Nights were a different kind of hell.

Murphy never slept, he was terrified of what he'd see when he closed his eyes. He was afraid of living another kind of hell just to wake up and do it all over again, or maybe he was scared he'd dream of good things, nice things, only to have that come crashing down when reality hit.

Horrific, brutal, reality.

Murphy didn't know which was worse.

So, instead, he sat, and he watched, and he waited.

There really wasn't much to do aside from think.

He thought about three things. He didn't want to think about them, but his mind always came back to them.

The first, was that this torture shit fucking hurt.

Questions.

Violence.

Screaming. Screaming until he couldn't.

Sometimes passing out from the pain 'cause it fucking _hurt_.

Over  
And over  
And over.

The second was his parents.

Murphy had spent a long time trying very hard _not_ to think about his parents.

He barely remembered his father, just that he loved him, but he could never forget watching him die. He was seven years old, his mother had held him to her chest as he cried, he had pleaded desperately with the guards, his father had pressed his hand to the glass with a sad smile and a mouthed "be good", and that was that.

Somehow it felt more pointless now that he was going to die here.

Murphy remembered how his mother used to _scream_. She had whispered about nonsense in a drunken stupor, or she had spat that he was a murderer and how much she wished he was never born or that he had been the one that died, with very little in between.

He remembered being nine years old and yelling at her to _fucking get up,_ because he fucking needed her. But she didn't. She stared at the wall. And she cried. And she traded rations for moonshine. And she drank. And that was that.

He remembered being eleven years old and washing the vomit out of her hair, his lip bloody and her knuckles split. Murphy felt guilty for wishing her dead, but he wanted it to be over. He needed it to be over.

Murphy was eleven years old when he found her lying in a bloody fucking puddle of her own sick, staring at the ceiling. He didn't remember crying.

The third thing he thought about was Bellamy fucking Blake, because who else could he think about than Bellamy fucking Blake?

Bellamy had really fucked him over. He felt like a child for thinking it wasn't fair. Since when was anything in his life fair?

* * *

_"Relax, princess, you're not my type," Murphy assured Clarke, sharpening a stick into a point._

_"Then what is your type?" It was an innocent enough question, but Murphy imagined her intentions were less so._

_"Dark hair, brown eyes, freckles...annoyingly good looking with a solid right hook," he said, glaring across the camp._

_Clarke followed his gaze. "They happen to be about 5'10" and named Bellamy, too?"_

_"What? No," he lied, going back to whittling away at the pile of sticks by his feet, glaring holes into the ground._

* * *

_"I like you."_ Fuck, that was blunt.

_"Okay."_

_"Okay?"_

_"What do you want me to say, Murphy?"_

I want you to say it back, fuckwit.

_"I don't know," he said instead._

Well, that's a fucking lie.

* * *

" _What do you want from me, Bellamy?" Murphy spat in anger, suddenly incredibly grateful for the rain, because he could feel his stupid fucking tears about to spill from his stupid fucking eyes, and fuck did he feel stupid. "I tell you...I tell you, fuck..." Murphy ran a shaking hand through his hair, "Then you can't even fucking look at me, and then you fucking kiss me out of fucking nowhere, and it's fucking me up! Stop fucking with my head! Tell me what you fucking want, you selfish asshole!"_

_"I don't know!"_

_Murphy rubbed his eye with the palm of his hand as he made a sound of frustration. "Oh, for fuck's sake," he groaned, turning away._

_"What else am I supposed to say?" Bellamy asked. Murphy was really starting to piss him off._

_He spun back around, throwing his arms out and letting them drop to his sides. "What the fuck, Bellamy?"_

_"What the fuck, Bellamy?" He echoed, waiting for him to elaborate as he stared blankly._

_"Did it mean anything to you?" He couldn't look Bellamy in the eyes as he asked, so he looked up into the rain, and waited impatiently for the answer._

_"Of course it did," Bellamy took a step closer, realising how far away Murphy had gotten._

_Murphy ran a hand down his face and pointed the knife at Bellamy, but there was no real threat behind the action. "You'll be the fucking death of me."_

**Fuck, he hadn't been far off with that, Murphy told himself.**

_Bellamy's voice softened. "I like you. It wasn't nothing."_

_"Yeah, whatever, dick," Murphy muttered as he walked past him, heading back to camp. Bellamy caught his wrist._

_"It wasn't nothing."_

* * *

Murphy let out a broken half laugh that turned into a strangled sob.

Murphy fucking hated crying.


	3. Penance

_"I can't believe I missed that. Bellamy, huh?" Clarke mused. Murphy shot her a glare._

_"We're not friends, Clarke. Besides, it's not like that," Murphy stubbornly refused to look at her. She watched him closely for a moment._

_"No one's judging you, Murphy," Clarke said gently, noting how Murphy's shoulders tensed._

_"You don't know shit, so fucking forget it."_

_"Alright, whatever you say, Murphy," she sighed._

_"Just fuck off," he said, looking her in the eyes properly for the first time since the conversation started._

_"I said alright."_

_He looked away. "I said fuck off."_

* * *

Murphy watched as Bellamy finished tying the noose, gun trained on him the whole time. "Now get up and toss it over."

Bellamy did as he was told. "What do you want me to say? You want me to apologize? I'm... I'm sorry."

That pissed Murphy off. Sorry wasn't going to fucking cut it, too little _far_ too fucking late.

Murphy had done a lot of thinking about Bellamy _fucking_ Blake since he'd been gone, and he wanted him to know what it was like.

He wanted Bellamy to feel everything he felt.

He wanted to watch him realise no one was going to save him, just like Murphy did when Bellamy turned his back on him, because if he didn't even have Bellamy, who the fuck did he have?

"You got it all wrong, Bellamy. I don't want you to _say_ anything. I want you to feel what I felt, and then... Then I want you to die."

_I want you to feel what I felt_

_I want you to know what's going to happen_

_I want you to be afraid_

_I want you to suffer_

_Then I want you to die_

And he meant it.

Murphy put a crate under the noose. "Stand on it. Put it over your head."

Bellamy was getting desperate now.

"This is insane-"

"No, what's _insane_ , is that you strung me up for _nothing_ , and then you left me to _die_. Put it over your head."

Bellamy did as he was told again. "Happy now?"

"You're so brave, aren't you? I mean, you came in here thinking you're just gonna turn this whole thing around, that you were stronger than me, and maybe one of your friends would come and help you. Well, what are you thinking now, Bellamy?"

_I want you to know no one is coming for you._

_I want you to know no one is coming for you._

_I want you to know no one is coming for you._

"You know, I got to hand it to you, Bellamy. You got 'em all fooled. They actually look up to you, almost as much as they look up to Clarke. Yeah, well, we know the truth, don't we? You're a coward. I learned that the day you kicked out the crate from beneath me.

"What was it you said, again? That you were just giving the people what they wanted?"

"I should have stopped them," Bellamy said, he was sincere but it didn't matter anymore. What was done was done.

"Yeah, well, it's a little late for that now."

Murphy reminded himself of all the reasons he hated Bellamy, pushing away everything else. He'd come too far to second guess himself now.

He listed them to himself.

_One. He let Clarke publicly accuse you of murder._

"You think they're just gonna let you walk out of here?" Bellamy asked. It didn't matter if it was a last ditch effort at appealing to Murphy's self preservation instinct or a threat.

Of course he knew they wouldn't just let him go.

But they both knew that.

 _Two. He let them beat the shit out of you_.

"No, but I think you're about to die." With that, he kicked the crate out from under Bellamy. Bellamy, in turn, grasped at the seat belts around his throat. "Using your hands is a cheat, mine were bound, remember?"

 _Three. He let them put the rope around your neck_.

He lowered the gun and pulled Bellamy's hands away from his throat. Bellamy kicked him in response, knocking the wind out of him. "That make you feel better, Blake?"

 _Four. He kicked the crate_.

_Five. He protected the bitch that actually killed Jaha._

_Six. He was going to kill you for_ _going after her._

_Seven. He banished you._

_Eight. You never would have been tortured if he hadn't._

_Nine. He betrayed you._

_I hate him_.  
 _I hate him.  
I hate him._

 _Ten_.

He didn't want to hate him.

"Fuck!" He groaned, and cut Bellamy down. "Fucking shit! Fuck!"

He slammed his fist into a wall and then into Bellamy's face.

He couldn't do it.

"Fuck you, Bellamy," was all he said in explanation.

"I knew you wouldn't do it," Bellamy said, voice strained and struggling to catch his breath. Murphy pointed at him, looking more pissed than Bellamy had ever seen him.

"I fucking would."

"But you didn't," Bellamy replied, propping himself up against a wall, rubbing his throat and wincing.

Murphy slumped against the opposite wall, holding the gun between his knees, letting his head fall back against the dropship. "I trusted you."

"I know," Bellamy whispered, so quiet he wasn't sure Murphy even heard him.

"Why'd you lie?" Murphy asked, staring up at the ceiling.

"I never lied to you, Murphy."

"You told me it wasn't nothing, but that was a fucking lie. You're a fucking liar, Blake, and I fucking hate you." Tears began to streak through the grime on Murphy's face, and he didn't quite know why.

"Now who's lying?" Bellamy asked. "Guess this makes us even."

 _Not even close_. Murphy met his eyes.

"Why'd you kiss me?"

"I don't know." Bellamy was lying, but Murphy let him.

He laughed bitterly, looking away again. "You did it twice."

"Well I didn't hate it." Murphy couldn't tell if that was supposed to be a joke or not.

"You're such an asshole."

"I am sorry. For all of it. I fucked up, Murph."

"Everyone's always so fucking sorry," Murphy said bitterly, voice shaking. He closed his eyes against the tears.

"I did like you, you know," Bellamy admitted, watching Murphy take a shuddering breath and wipe the tears from his cheeks angrily.

"But not now?" Murphy tried to joke.

"You still going to kill me?" Bellamy was only half joking.

"Haven't decided yet." He meant it.

Bellamy was quiet for so long Murphy thought he wasn't going to say anything else.

"I think I could still like you, even though you're a fucking dick."

"I was always a dick," Murphy said with a half smile, glancing over at Bellamy.

Bellamy half smiled back. "Fair point."

They both started laughing at that, more than they probably should have, before drifting into a marginally less tense silence. Whatever it was they had broken between them wasn't even close to fixed, just different, but hey, maybe it was just a little less broken.

It felt like forever before Murphy spoke again. "They fucked us up pretty good, huh?"

Bellamy moved to sit next to Murphy. "We never even stood a chance."

Murphy stared at his hands nervously. "I like you. Is that still okay?"

"Yeah, Murph. That's still okay."

Different.

They were fucked up, and things were never going to go back to how they were before...  
But Murphy liked Bellamy, and that was that.


End file.
